


Beautiful Promises

by unwindmyself



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, F/F, Femslash, Light Bondage, PWP, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In the world, she knows, the khaleesi chafes at the notion of being possessed; in the privacy of her quarters, when it is known that she has already given herself, already belongs to, they are learning together that there is something enjoyable about playing with that notion."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Promises

“Khaleesi.”

Doreah’s voice is low, honey-laced; when Dany turns to look, she sees her handmaid idling in the doorway, twisting the silk of the robe she’s been given in her hands and looking up from under her eyelashes.  It’s her clearest look of seductive intent, practiced and perfected.

It makes Dany’s heart stutter and skip in her chest.

“My lady,” Daenerys whispers.  It’s truer than can be, after all, and she has become less and less shy about saying this, about offering that honest praise.  She beckons toward her, her smile hopefully beguiling.

Doreah crosses the room, languorous and almost teasing.  “Mm, _am_ I your lady?” she asks lightly, starting to slip her robe off her shoulders.  She knows the answer, of course, but she has become less and less shy about hearing this and even revels in it; their exchange of words is almost sacramental, certainly more so than most anything else that either of them has said before.

“Oh, yes,” Dany breathes, widening her eyes.  “The only one that shall be.”  She reaches to take the other girl’s hand, pulling her onto the cushions and kissing her.

“Such beautiful promises,” Doreah hums against her khaleesi’s lips.

“I promise what is true,” Daenerys whispers, and she slides the silk from Doreah’s body with finality.

“My,” Doreah laughs.  “You’ve got ideas.”

“I admit there are a few,” Dany says coyly, imitating her maid’s earlier gaze.  

“And it is mine to suppose them,” Doreah replies, her tone knowing, her expression gently provocative.  “Of course, my queen.”

In suggestive acquiescence, Daenerys offers up the stolen robe; Doreah takes it, turns it over, and pulls the sash free, almost with a snap of the silk, raising her eyebrow.  In the world, she knows, the khaleesi chafes at the notion of being possessed; in the privacy of her quarters, when it is known that she has already given herself, already belongs to, they are learning together that there is something enjoyable about playing with that notion.

“As you will, my goddess,” Dany murmurs, tipping her head expectantly.  For one who would not have imagined this mere weeks ago, she is surprisingly confident in her desires, and there is little mistaking her intentions.

Carefully, then, Doreah slips behind her; she wraps the silk flat around the blonde’s eyes, once and then twice, before tying it firm behind her head.

“Anything, Khaleesi?” she whispers in Dany’s ear.

Daenerys just shakes her head adamantly.  “Nothing, my lady,” she intones, breathy and almost nervous-sounding.

“Stand,” Doreah commands, stepping back to allow the necessary space.  Daenerys rises to her feet, arms held out beside her for balance, and affects her royallest posture: shoulders squared, chin lifted, unseeing eyes aimed forward.  Like a statue, some noble myth.

Doreah smiles to herself, admiring the other woman’s form all wrapped in gifted gray gossamer.  “So perfect,” she coos, and she pulls the layers of fabric away bit by bit, kissing Dany’s soft skin as it’s bared: arms and shoulders and chest.  When she drops to her knees and presses her lips to Dany’s thighs, she has to hold the other woman’s hips to steady her quivering.

“For you, my Reah,” Dany sighs, blindly reaching to tangle hands in her lover’s hair.

It coaxes another smile out of Doreah, and all at once, she pulls back, clambers up, nudges her khaleesi toward the bed.  “I am yours and you are mine,” she says, solemn and practiced as a ritual.  “Do you trust me, Dany?”

“Wholly,” Daenerys replies.  She lets herself be pushed onto the bed, atop the covers, and tries to guess at her handmaid’s moves by listening.

Doreah murmurs to herself, thoughtful: she always has to take a moment to admire her queen sprawled out for her, all pale skin and dainty limbs.  “And do you promise to follow orders?” she asks.

Familiarity: what this requires.  Doreah almost regrets not seeing the other girl’s blue-violet-green-silver-brown eyes widen innocently as she murmurs, “Always.”

“Lift your hands, Khaleesi,” is the response, an imperative, a command, but soft.  Daenerys complies, swallowing heavily - even when such things are more or less her idea to begin, it is not unusual for her to have moments of nerves or something like them - and Doreah reaches for her wrists, kissing one and then the other before binding them, crossed, with more silk (this from the ties of Dany’s robes).  “You’re all right?” she clarifies, seeing how the other girl worries her lip.

“I am,” Dany says, calm again, letting her arms fall back against the pillows and sighing in anticipation.

With naught but the silk wrapped around her arms and eyes, Doreah has to think how vulnerable her lover is in here.  The Mother of Dragons, she who will take the Iron Throne, here in thrall to a daughter of the Lysene pleasure houses, trusting her body and her happiness to such a girl.

It is a far greater honor than she could have prayed for.

“Reah,” the blonde whispers urgently.  “Reah, kiss me.”

“If I do,” Doreah begins, all seriousness and ultimatum, “Then you must promise me to be perfectly quiet until I say.”

Daenerys nods, her hair bunching beneath her.  “If you wish it,” she agrees.  The buildup is agonizing enough to get her promising many behaviors, and it’s become a game to see which are accepted.

Satisfied, Doreah straddles Dany’s hips and leans down to kiss her, taking her face in both hands and near-moaning into it, almost in challenge.  She sucks on Dany’s bottom lip, traces her tongue around Dany’s tongue, and yet there is the promised silence.  Certainly, she shifts her hips almost impatiently, arches her chest to bring their bodies closer together even as her hands stay held behind her, but she does as asked.  Not a murmur, not a moan, not a string of pretty words escapes her.

Doreah brushes fingers down Dany’s arms, to her breasts, around her nipples; Dany’s breath catches, several times over, but still she holds her tongue.

“Your ungentle heart beats fast for me,” Doreah whispers, caressing the other girl’s throat to feel the racing of her pulse.  

For her part, Daenerys pushes her hips against Doreah’s without a thought, biting down on her bottom lip and furrowing her brow. 

“I am yours and you are mine,” Doreah says again, reverently, leaning close to let her queen feel breath and sound against her skin; she arches up and lets a hand slip between those already-trembling legs.

Daenerys’ mouth falls open, she thrusts up immediately, and Doreah thinks that she’s proved herself enough.  “Tell me you are mine, Khaleesi,” she says, her voice carefully measured and just the right degree of dominant, her fingers working betwixt the blonde’s sex.

“I am yours, my lady Doreah,” Dany exclaims shrilly.  She laces her fingers together as best she can, clutching at herself practically, and spreads her thighs further apart.

Taking in a breath, Doreah returns her other hand to her lover’s breast, fondling and stroking and all the while not stopping the steady rhythm she’s found between Daenerys’ legs.  Soon, she’s begun to circle her own hips, faster each time, and she takes care to stifle her sigh.

“More,” Dany pants, writhing under her handmaid’s touch.

A soft giggle.  “You have certainly learned to make your demands, my queen,” Doreah murmurs, reaching to stroke the other girl’s cheek tenderly.  “And make them irresistibly.”

Daenerys thinks that, were it possible, she would match the gesture, caressing Doreah’s face and throat, tangling hands in her hair; all she can do now is angle her head, exposing her own throat in another demand.  “You have taught me well,” she declares.

Doreah takes the hint (she always does) and she leans forward once more, pressing her lips to Dany’s neck hungrily.  With one arm resting at her queen’s side, bracing herself, she pulls the fingers of the other out from between Dany’s legs to make her whimper.  “There is much that we’ve taught each other,” she corrects, and she slides to take Dany’s nipple in her mouth instead.

Somehow, that’s never expected, and it always makes her squeal; she bucks her hips against Doreah’s, clenches her jaw to stifle some of the loudest moans.  “ _Yes_ ,” she sighs, throwing her head back and staring blindly up.  

Faster than it can be conceived of, Doreah jerks up again and shifts her own hips, swinging a leg over so she’s straddling one of Daenerys’ and continuing to grind against her.  “My khaleesi, my queen,” she hisses, increasing the speed of her thrusting fingers and her gyrating hips in kind.

“Moon of my life, my goddess,” Dany near-shouts, feeling the way that Doreah moves atop her and in her, feeling her growing need.

“What would you have me do?” Doreah asks throatily.

Daenerys can’t bring herself to answer right away; she can sense the moment starting to build in her, and it takes immense willpower to do anything but lay there and chew her lip and try not to wail.  Doreah moves faster and rougher and with more and more determination, and the sight and sound of the other girl in her passions washes over her fresh once and again.

“What would you have me do, khaleesi?” Doreah repeats, more forcefully now as she concentrates her movements.

“Bring me,” Daenerys cries, voice sliding up the octaves.  “Bring me, my lady.”

After just long enough of a wait to make the blonde crazy, twisting against nimble fingers and under strong legs, Doreah grins and goes to rub her queen’s most sensitive spot with such singlemindedness as only she can.  “My sweet,” she whispers, playful.

“Doreah,” Dany exclaims, drawing the name out as she comes.  Her body about shakes, her breath quickens; she arches toward her lover’s body as best she can.  Doreah, for her part, drives her hips against Dany’s leg yet harder, one of her hands shifting to work against herself desperately; as her whimpers become more pronounced, Dany’s start to fade out.

By the time Doreah has brought herself to orgasm, Daenerys is almost still again, sighing lightly as she recovers; Doreah is quieter in her finish, but given the khaleesi’s screams, that’s a relative assessment.  She can’t help herself but, as she slides off and nestles against Dany’s side, to trail a hand between the other woman’s legs, idling at the still-tender flesh until she mewls again, almost in protest of so much sensation.  

“Do I please you, my queen?” Doreah whispers, her breath hot on Dany’s skin.

Collapsing against the other girl’s body, Daenerys nods; Doreah reaches for her wrists, undoing the tie, and takes her in her arms.  “Here, I think,” Daenerys replies softly, “You are the queen.  You are certainly _my_ queen."  She turns over, finally able to run hands over the other girl’s skin as she's craved, and she feels for Doreah’s lips, tracing them with the pad of her thumb before leaning to capture them with her own.

Doreah smiles, brushes some of her lover’s hair back to kiss her throat tenderly.  She is quiet a moment, brushing the blonde’s cheek along just where the blindfold hits; she has not learned, she may not ever learn, the best way to respond when such things are said.  “This may come off whenever you wish,” she says instead, toying with the silk and aiming for flirtation.

Dany chuckles, nuzzling her head against Doreah.  “I am in your hands,” she declares, just as coy.  “I have faith in you.”

“Hold still, then,” Doreah murmurs, moving a hand back to pull the knots free; when the fabric is discarded, she kisses each of Dany’s eyelids, rests so their foreheads touch.  The other girl blinks, and her lips turn up in a slow smile.

“My Reah,” she whispers.  Sometimes, that’s all that seems to be needed.


End file.
